her fight and fury is fiery
by screaming internally
Summary: Uma doesn't remember being anything other than angry about her lot in life. She knows that most of the kids on the Isle wouldn't want to be anywhere else: the Isle was home. The Isle was nothing to her, except a place to leave. (this is a oneshot)


**her fight and fury is fiery**

* * *

Uma doesn't remember being anything other than angry about her lot in life. She knows that most of the kids on the Isle wouldn't want to be anywhere else: the Isle was home.

Uma, though, had never felt that. Ever. From her first breath, her mother had had her submerged in water, where she belonged - her blood _sang_ for the salt of the sea, _screamed_ for it most days. The sea was her true home. And except for the few places she could reach it, she was as cut off from what her soul yearned for as the horned Mistress of Evil was cut off from her magic.

The only reason she had loyalty to the Isle was for the people on it: her crew, her team, her family, and in all the ways her mother barely touched, her crew and her boys were worth more to Uma than anything else.

The Isle was nothing to her, except a place to leave.

* * *

While the night moon tried weakly to shine on the Isle, Uma shed her boots, her hat and belt, dropping herself without grace into the water. Gil watched from the edge of the pier - Harry was doing the rounds, taking the valuables (if they could be called such) of those foolish enough to exist in Wharf Rat territory.

Uma, even after pushing herself under the gently lapping waves, could feel Gil's brown eyes following her. He'd stay until she came back up, Uma knew. Gil was simple, but more loyal than his whole family put together and with good reason: when Gil had declared himself to Uma, back when she'd won her ship and the reputation for a crew of her own, Gaston had thrown him out, to properly set an example to Gil's brothers what being subservient to a _woman_ meant in Gaston's house. And so, Gil had never left the wharf.

Uma, for all her frustration with him sometimes, would never make him leave.

She opened her eyes, when she felt her feet touch the sandy, rocky, polluted sea-bed beneath the Isle. While she could've kept them open for her drop, she often ended up with a touch of vertigo when she reached the bottom. Gently, gently, Uma began moving her body against the current of the water, keeping one eye on the fish around her, one eye on the sea-bed. Why? Because the Isle was about as good at getting rid of their garbage as Auradon: Auradon sent their garbage to the Isle, the Isle sent it to the bottom of the sea. And sometimes - not often, but sometimes - they'd end up throwing something of usefulness, of worth, into Uma and Ursula's domain.

And Uma was the only one able - willing - to get it back.

Hence her little habit.

She slid her feet over the rocks and sand as she moved, careful of anything too sharp - the Isle did have sharks, after all, and blood of merfolk worked just as well to work them into a frenzy as human blood. It was times like this that Uma could feel the magic in her bones pushing against the barrier, the bubble keeping what was rightfully hers by _birth_ out. Ursula had told her that if Uma had been born on the other side of the glimmering green shield, Uma would have her mother's tentacles, her mother's magic. Uma hated the barrier as much as King Beast.

There didn't seem to be anything of any kind of worth today - old bottle shards and caps, knives too rusted for any kind of use. Nothing.

Uma bared her teeth at the disappointment, and used her own rusted knife to carve couple clams from the rocky sea-wall that was the edge of the Isle. The clams grew and lived attached to the rocks, deeper than any fishing lines could manage. Most people didn't know where Ursula could get them from, when she sold the clams at her shop, but Uma's efforts were the reason for that. The clams were easily the freshest food to ever actually turn up on the Isle.

She never took more than she could hold in her two hands - so never more than six or seven - but her mother could make the mollusc's innards stretch in the customer's food anyway.

Uma propelled herself, with the help of the water current, back up to the pier where Gil was waiting. When she surfaced, Gil's eyes were trained on Harry's pocket watch, the chain looping through his fingers.

"How long was I under?"

Gil took the clams from his captain and put them on the pier, helping to pull her out of the water immediately after. "About half an hour. Nothing good down there?"

"Nope."

Not bothering to pull her boots back on, Uma slapped her hat on her head and Gil trailed her back to the restaurant, the clams appearing much smaller in his hands than they did in Uma's.

* * *

Harry was waiting for them. His spoils: the small amount of gold that people had, a couple of interesting trinkets, some scraps of nice fabric. The usual. Gil handed Harry back the watch, before going into the kitchen to deposit the clams.

Once that was done, the three of them retired to Uma's captain quarters. They weren't much, but the bed was big enough for the three of them, when Gil squished himself against the wall that the bed was shoved against.

The boys fell asleep quickly - it was a quiet night for all three of them. Uma lay in-between her boys, her head turned to fit just beneath Gil's jaw, and waited for unconsciousness to claim her.

* * *

One day. One day, they'd leave. All of them. Uma would find a way - someone would find a way. The Isle was made for leaving - Auradon couldn't keep them here forever.

And when that day came? Uma and her crew would burn Auradon down, and sail into their bright sunset.

* * *

(so Descendants 2 FINALLY came out on Itunes, so I finally got to watch it. It was great! Uma was a character I loved, and I found her motivations entirely understandable. Ben dropped the ball.

Also, Uma/Gil/Harry is my Descendants OT3)


End file.
